


bleeding love

by geralehane



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 09:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14746410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geralehane/pseuds/geralehane
Summary: "Slithering into Lexa’s bedchambers is surprisingly easy. She tells herself she’s here to get rid of the confusion. In a way, she does; when Lexa silently stares up at her as she straddles her, stake pressed to her chest.“I see you’ve made your decision,” she says, and Clarke tells herself she hates the slight upward twitch of her lips.“Yes,” she replies.The stake clatters to the ground, and Lexa’s lips curve against hers when she surges down and catches them in a hungry kiss."





	bleeding love

**Author's Note:**

> check out [my tumblr](http://geralehane.tumblr.com) for a link to my other works! 
> 
> enjoy your read!

 

Finn is pretty. It’s not a word people usually use to describe a boy, but Clarke can’t think of him as anything else. He’s pretty and reckless, and there’s something sinister in the curve of his smile that she misses at first. It doesn’t matter anyway. 

 

Finn is pretty, and the way he kills her is pretty, too; she can see it in the mirror in front of them. Can see the first trickle of blood down her neck, crimson and thick. Dripping into her cleavage – deep to the point of indecent, a peak of her rebellion against her mother. 

 

It looks good against her pale skin. Blood. She’s so transfixed by the sight that the pain doesn’t even register at first. She’s almost surprised at the sizzling sharpness of her wound by the time it finally reaches her heady brain. 

 

Finn doesn’t care when he hears her first pained groan. He only pulls her closer to her and sinks his fangs in deeper, and she sees white as she blacks out. 

 

She wakes up alone. It’s a miracle, she learns later, that she even woke; that Finn didn’t choose to leave her there, drained and dying. There is something about her, she learns later. Everyone tells her there’s something about her. Finn does, too, in the note he leaves behind. There’s something about her that didn’t let him kill her, even though it’s against the laws. 

 

The laws, older than old, and just as cruel as they are ancient – but Clarke would learn about that much, much later. 

 

For now, she blinks, crumples Finn’s note up and burns it. 

 

*** 

 

Being a vampire isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. But it’s not as miserable as some make it out to be, either. As long as you turn your emotions off, it’s more than fine. A little boring, but she always finds new ways to entertain herself. 

 

She pretends to be glad her mother is long dead and can’t see her now after one particularly bloody orgy. 

 

Soon, however, it grows boring, too. The mayhem and parties and killing and painting the town red are fun for a couple of decades. But the cleanup isn’t – and she’s learned, her very first year as a vampire, that she can’t exactly leave corpses lying around. It’s an offense punishable by death. Apparently, undead can die, too. 

 

The laws. Whether she wants it or not, she’s subject to them now, too. Ironic, since, according to these laws, she shouldn’t exist in the first place. 

 

Vampires have an actual goddamn Council. Vampires, according to Council, aren’t allowed to sire new vampires unless they have permission. 

 

She wonders if they found Finn and executed him, and wonders if she should care. Wonders if she would care if she flipped her humanity switch back on, and then wonders if it’s even possible to go back. 

She doesn’t know. She does know, though, that she doesn’t want to.

***

She meets Lexa when she’s contemplating meeting the sunrise. At least she’ll see the sun again, even if for the last time. 

 

Lexa is pretty. She’s much prettier than Finn. Clarke is correct in guessing that means she’s that much more dangerous, too. She’s certainly much faster; Clarke has the pleasure of experiencing it firsthand when she tries to run away, covered in blood that’s not her own. Lexa catches her effortlessly. She looks almost bored when she grabs her neck and slams her into the wall, glancing at the carnage Clarke left after her careless feeding. 

 

“What is your name?” Her voice is not at all what Clarke expects. It’s even and soft, and there’s no rage in her eyes as she studies her. 

 

She tries to fight her off, but she squeezes her hand around her neck. Clever fingers find pressure points and dig in, making her gasp. “Clarke,” she relents, growing still. “I’m Clarke.”

 

“Clarke.” She says her name as if she’s tasting it, thoughtfully and thoroughly. Her eyes meet Clarke’s after slowly searching her face, and she notices their color for the first time. Green. She likes green. Probably not something she should be thinking considering her predicament. “I hope you realize you broke the law, Clarke. Because if you don’t, that means your sire didn’t tell you about it. And if your sire didn’t tell you about it, that means you’re more than likely an accident.” Her voice doesn’t change as she speaks, calm to the point of disinterest. “And we have no place for accidents.” 

 

Clarke’s smirk grows and grows until she’s laughing, loud and brash. “You’ll be doing me a favor,” she says when she’s done and when green eyes narrow as they study her in silence. “Staking yourself is surprisingly hard. I’ve tried it, ad I wouldn’t recommend it.” Lexa’s expression stays the same, but there’s a sliver of  _ something _ in her gaze Clarke’s long since unlearned to decipher when Clarke grabs her other hand and guides it to her chest. Right over her heart. “Go ahead,” she grins. It looks feral, with blood dripping down her chin and her fangs glistening in the moonlight. “I’ll thank you when you I see you in hell.” 

 

Lexa’s hand on her chest curls in a fist, and the pain is sharp, but brief when she snaps her neck. Last thing she remembers seeing before her lifeless body slides down the wall is the beginning of Lexa’s frown. 

 

***

 

She’s not happy when she wakes up in one of Lexa’s guest bedrooms. But she’s not unhappy, either. Mostly, she’s numb and bored, and she doesn’t even have it in herself to be surprised at this unlikely turn of events. All she knows is she won’t be some kind of a pet, or whatever it is Lexa took her in for. She can still run away and face the sun. There’s always this foolproof escape. 

 

But Lexa doesn’t want a pet. Lexa doesn’t want anything from her. Just her story.  So Clarke shrugs and tells her. She doesn’t have anything left to lose, and Lexa did spare her, even though she’d prefer it if she didn’t. 

 

She tells her about losing her father and meeting Finn. About her wish of death and Finn’s sweet whispered promises of helping her. She was seventeen when she died – at that age, it’s easy to be seduced by enticingly dark tales. 

 

“You agreed to be turned,” Lexa states. 

 

Clarke laughs. “I agreed to be killed,” she says. “I had no intention of waking up the next morning. But he couldn’t do it.” 

 

_ There’s something about you, my dear Clarke, _ his letter said. _ I can’t stay with you, or they’ll kill us both. But I’ll find a way, and I’ll find you again. _

 

Lexa’s staring at her, and it’s unnerving because she can’t tell what she’s thinking. For the most part, her gaze is blank, and so is her face. “How long have you been a vampire?” 

 

“Thirty years or so,” Clarke shrugs. “Way too long.” 

 

Lexa’s next question is not unexpected, but the way she says it is – careful, almost gentle. “And do you wish to die?”

 

Perhaps, because of that, Clarke says the truth. “I -- I don’t know.” 

 

***

 

Lexa tells her she needs to figure it out. While she does, she offers her to stay in her mansion. It would be a pity if she decides she wants to live and gets tracked down by the Council. They certainly won’t be as generous as Lexa is. Clarke knows that. 

 

She just doesn’t know why Lexa hasn’t notified them about her yet. Her affiliation with them is clear. She’s old and powerful, and her mansion is filled with portraits of people resembling her, all wearing same stoic masks and regal clothes. She easily could be one of the Elders, and Clarke wouldn’t know. 

 

For now, she’s safe. For now, she has a quiet sanctuary where she can actually think, without worrying about running and hiding and feeding. Lexa sends her a bottle of fresh blood for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Her servants throw her curious looks, but don’t ask any questions. She wouldn’t answer them anyway. 

 

After a week alone with herself, she hunts Lexa down in her library, where she’s sitting at the desk, a glass half-full of blood next to her as she reads. “Am I your prisoner?” She blurts out. 

 

Lexa’s surprise is evident on her face as she lifts her eyes to meet hers. Clarke’s proud of making her display an emotion. “No,” she says slowly. “Only your own. I assumed you wished to stay in your room, and so I didn’t disturb you.” 

 

“Oh.” Clarke feels a little stupid. She has a tendency to do so in Lexa’s presence, she discovered. 

 

Lexa’s sigh is tired as she pushes the book away and leans back in her chair, sipping at blood. “Have you made a decision?” 

Maybe. “Not yet.” 

 

Lexa nods. “Then I suggest you concentrate on that,” she says, picking her book up again. “And after that, we’ll figure out the rest.” Her gaze returns to the book in a clear demonstration of her dismissal. 

 

Clarke doesn’t understand the rage building in her chest, but she knows she doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like Lexa’s condescending tone and unreadable glances and the way she finds her book more interesting than her. 

 

Slithering into Lexa’s bedchambers is surprisingly easy. She tells herself she’s here to get rid of the confusion. In a way, she does; when Lexa silently stares up at her as she straddles her, stake pressed to her chest. 

 

“I see you’ve made your decision,” she says, and Clarke tells herself she hates the slight upward twitch of her lips. 

 

“Yes,” she replies. 

 

The stake clatters to the ground, and Lexa’s lips curve against hers when she surges down and catches them in a hungry kiss. 

 

***

 

“I’m afraid,” she says once as she lies with her head on Lexa’s unmoving chest. 

 

“Of what?” 

 

“Of turning it back on.” Lexa’s hand stills for a second before she continues to run it through her hair. “I don’t think my sanity will handle it. Not after what I’ve done.” 

 

Lexa doesn’t say anything for the longest moment, and Clarke’s words hang in the air above them. Pressing on her. But then, Lexa speaks. “I was betrothed a long time ago,” she says. “Her name was Costia. She was beautiful, and she was mine, and because she was mine, she was killed. I was turned shortly after. It was before the laws were in place.” She pauses. “I slaughtered everyone in our village.”

 

Clarke thinks she would’ve gasped if she had her humanity. Because everyone means women and children and weak and innocent, and she knows why Lexa is telling her this. 

 

“My sire was immensely entertained. That was the main reason she turned me, after all, and I didn’t disappoint. She stood there, watching, as I ripped into anyone I saw. I didn’t even spare Costia’s family.” She can hear the wry smirk in her voice. “After all, they were the ones to burn her at the stake while I watched and waited for my turn.” She feels Lexa swallow. “I still remember their screams.  I still remember the way children taste.” 

 

“You’re stronger than me,” she tells Lexa, then. 

 

“As long as you believe that, yes,” comes a cool response. “As long as you want to believe that, so you don’t have to face your fear.” 

 

She kind of hates how Lexa is always right. “How long did you wait before you turned it on?” 

 

Lexa’s quiet when she answers. “Half a century. Spent far more time hating myself afterwards. It is terrifying, yes. But being empty was worse.” 

 

Clarke thinks she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, so she rolls on top of her and sinks her teeth into her lower lip. 

 

***

 

In a way, it’s not up to her anymore. It takes a while to admit, but it stopped being up to her the moment she’s met Lexa, even if she had no idea back then. She realizes it’s a certain kind of cliché – falling in love with your savior. It doesn’t make it any less difficult. 

 

But love definitely unlocks her emotions, whether or not she wants it to. And she doesn’t. Oh, she doesn’t; thoughts of killing Lexa to spare herself the inevitable pain flood her mind for several days. 

 

Lexa notices. Of course, Lexa notices. “You’ve been avoiding me,” she says quietly over dinner. Clarke doesn’t know why she keeps coming to them. There’s just something about the whole ordeal, she decides. Sharing a quiet meal in a room richer with history than books. 

 

Perhaps, it also has to do something with how lovely Lexa looks in the candlelight. Perhaps. 

 

“Have I?” she asks, taking a sip of her wine and pretending not to notice Lexa’s frown. 

 

But Lexa didn’t manage to stay alive for so long by losing her temper. Her face relaxes, and becomes neutral again as she impassively studies her. “Have you made your decision?” She asks casually. 

 

Clarke hates the way her cool tone makes her feel. Hates that it makes her  _ feel. _ “I – yes.” She takes a deep, unnecessary breath. Some habits die hard, she supposes. “I don’t want to die.” The words ring between them. 

 

She wishes her unbeating heart didn’t leap into her throat at the sight of Lexa’s smile slowly spreading, as soft as her emerald, suddenly sparkling gaze. “I’m glad,” she says. That’s it. Nothing else, but somehow, it’s more than enough, and Clarke can’t let that happen, but she still does. 

 

Her fork clatters when she releases it from her grip and springs to her feet, marching towards Lexa. The determination she’s feeling must come across as fury, because Lexa blinks and stands up, something akin to cautious surprise flashing through her eyes. 

 

They widen even more when Clarke leans in, grasping at her shoulders and pressing her lips to hers. She’s so stunned she doesn’t even try to catch the shuddering sigh falling from Clarke’s lips, and her arms are slow to wrap around her. But it doesn’t matter. 

 

For now, nothing else matters but this. 

 

***

 

“I will probably be very angry with you when everything starts coming back,” Clarke whispers. Lexa’s skin is cool to the touch where she traces it with her fingers. Stomach. Chest, right over the silent heart. A defined collarbone and a delicate, delicious neck. “Since, you know, you kind of made me do this.”

 

She feels her lips curl under her fingertip. “I very much doubt it.” Her arms tighten their hold on her when she says the next words. “You won’t have time for anger in your despair.” 

 

It’s terrifying – the anticipation of being broken. But Lexa’s gaze is strong and gentle, and she chooses to succumb to it. One last night to enjoy before everything comes rushing back in – guilt and horror over what she’s done and has been doing before Lexa found her. 

 

At the very least, she thinks, she has something to look forward to, and she doesn’t doubt it will outweigh the inevitable pain. She’ll know what it’s like to fully love Lexa. This muted warmth in her chest will blossom and grow and spread through her entire being, and that’s her new hope. 

 

*** 

 

By now, she’s not even surprised when her hope gets taken away from her. 

 

She never concerned herself with vampire politics. Perhaps, she should have. Lexa  _ is _ regal – she’s the leader of her clan. She’s part of the Council. She could’ve lead Council. If she hasn’t been sleeping with a low-life mistake of their kind. 

 

They come at dawn, when Lexa’s dosing off in her arms, pliant and soft and completely unprepared. Lexa manages to kill five. Clarke kills three. The fourth forces her on her knees and presses a stake to her heart, snarling at Lexa to surrender. 

 

She yells at her not to. Lexa doesn’t listen.  

 

“You will bring us to Cain right away, and I’ll let you take us,” she says evenly. “But if I suspect that you’re not doing what I asked, I  _ will _ kill you, and if she dies, so be it.” Their captors might miss the brief tightening of Lexa’s jaw, but she doesn’t. “And you know this is not an empty promise.”

 

The one holding Clarke growls, but doesn’t argue. She feels him nod, before more of them run up to her, and to Lexa, putting silver chains around their hands. 

 

*** 

 

There is no trial. Clarke doesn’t get to find out who betrayed Lexa – which one of her servants. And she doesn’t get to decide anything. Lexa does it for her.

 

“She receives absolute immunity.” Her voice doesn’t leave any room for argument. It’s a statement, not a question. The guards scoff at that, but Cain doesn’t. He sits, completely still, as he watches Lexa with no expression on his pale face. 

 

“Why would I do that?” He asks, then, and his voice is as colorless as his skin. Clarke can’t help a shiver that runs down her spine at hearing him talk. At seeing him, really. Even though the only thing she’s really concerned about is making sure Lexa gets out of this alive, she’s still shaken at having met him. 

 

The first murderer on Earth.

 

Lexa’s face doesn’t change, either. “Consider this me collecting my debt,” she says. “It’s not that terrible of a trade-off, really. A young vampire for  _ me. _ ” Her lips curl. “You’ve been waiting for this, Cain. For me to slip up. Well, now I’m here, and your debt is cleared  _ if _ you let her go.” 

 

“Lexa!” A guard punches her ribs at her outburst, hard, and she hears a crack as she cries out and she falls to her knees. But she doesn’t stop talking when green eyes find hers. “Don’t,” she breathes. “Ask for your life. Lexa – please.” 

 

Lexa’s gaze is unwavering, but when she speaks, it’s for Cain. “Let her go, and I’ll come willingly.” 

 

“Lexa, what are you do -- ugh!” The guard grabs her by her hair and tugs her up, sinking a knife in her stomach. Lexa’s fingers twitch, and she doesn’t hold back a snarl at the sight. 

 

Before she does anything else, Cain rises to his feet. He’s thin. Horribly so. The guard immediately steps back, leaving her on the floor, curled and bleeding. “And if she tries to exact her revenge?” He asks as he slowly descends from his throne. 

 

“She won’t.” Lexa’s still looking at her. “She wouldn’t want this to be… in vain.” Clarke knows she means her sacrifice, and the knowledge is more painful than the wound that’s already closing. 

 

Cain doesn’t spare Clarke a glance. “If she does, she’ll die,” he says. “But if she doesn’t, she may live.” He waves at his guards, and two of them rush towards Clarke, roughly tugging her up. 

 

She trashes in their hold. “No, wait!” She screams as they drag her away, back to the door they came through. Cain and Lexa start to slowly make their way to the entrance near the throne. “Take me. Kill me. That’s the law. She didn’t do anything wrong.” She did, of course – she hid her, and fed her, and became her lover. But right now, she doesn’t care. “Please,” she almost sobs. 

 

Cain doesn’t stop, but Lexa does, if only for a fraction of a second. She doesn’t look back, but her words still reach Clarke, quiet but confident. 

 

_ We will meet again. _

 

Then, a guard fed up with her snaps her neck, and everything goes black. 

 

***

 

She doesn’t try to kill him. The fact that it would be a suicide mission notwithstanding, she’s afraid he’ll do something to Lexa if she comes for him. Because she’s still alive. She has to be. Lexa wouldn’t give her false hope. She knows that, and Cain knows that, too, and for some reason, he was powerless to stop her from making that promise. 

 

So she waits.

 

***

 

Decades come and go, and so does her humanity. She discovers that it’s possible to mute the feelings without turning them off all the way. She learns to control her bloodlust when they are shut down completely. She learns to feed without killing. She does all of it without Lexa, but she does it  _ for _ her as much as she does it for herself. 

 

A witch she meets and strikes an odd friendship with tells her that vampires usually find one guiding emotion to lead them through. The one they won’t be able to turn off. 

 

“It happens naturally,” she tells her one night, when they are tipsy and she’s only mildly suspicious of her. “The most vivid emotion you’ve experienced, either alive or dead, is the one that you get stuck with. Most of you hate it, really. Some revel in it. There’s nothing more dangerous than a vamp whose main emotion is anger. Or hatred.” 

 

She doesn’t ask what Clarke’s is. And Clarke doesn’t need her to. She already knows. After all, there’s only one thing that was enough to make her turn everything back on.

 

The love she has for Lexa has driven her to do many things. Some good; some bad; some terrible. She’s saved for her; she survived for her; she killed for her. Sometimes, she understands why other vampires hate this. 

 

More than several times, she’s come close to becoming insane from missing her. More than several times, she’s tried to find the Council and rescue her. She’s failed on both accounts, and to this day, she’s not sure which one would’ve been better or worse. 

 

*** 

 

The day Lexa comes back to her she thinks she’s finally gone crazy. Or finally managed to overdose, however unfeasible that is for a vampire. She thinks she’d much prefer it if Lexa was a vivid hallucination. 

 

But Lexa’s kneeling next to her, and her expression is both tender and heartbroken as she brushes the needles away and slowly, slowly lifts Clarke up in her arms. 

 

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this,” Clarke mumbles. Even if her dazed mind made Lexa up, she still deserves to hear it. “I was supposed to get better.” 

 

“You will,” Lexa whispers, and Clarke feels something wet when Lexa leans down and presses her face to her neck. Her shoulders shake. 

 

“I waited for you, you know. I’ve been waiting for you, but I’m not sure if I should.” Lexa smells the same, underneath blood that isn’t her own. “You promised, but you’re not coming back.” 

 

“I’ll never leave again,” Lexa tells her, and Clarke lets the world fade as her head lolls back. She wants to have some more time with her, but if she’s not real, she can always take more when she wakes up, and she’ll appear again. And if she  _ is _ real, well – they’ll have more time. But she’s not. 

 

*** 

 

She is, and her green eyes are full of pain when she looks at her in the morning. They are somewhere in a hotel room that’s much nicer than what Clarke usually goes for. It’s either comfortable or low profile, and she prefers the latter. 

 

They are lying side by side. She’s got a blanket over her, and Lexa is fully clothed as she lies on top of the cover and studies her. 

 

She’s real. Clarke thinks she knew she was real when she first saw her – she just wasn’t ready to face the truth. She’s not sure she is right now, but she doesn’t exactly have a choice. 

 

But Lexa’s real. She’s here, and she’s alive, and she’s  _ real _ , and isn’t that all that matters? 

 

Lexa’s lips tremble, and so does her hand on Clarke’s back when she silently leans in and presses up against her and  _ breaks. _

 

*** 

 

She doesn’t leave Lexa’s side for weeks after that, always making sure she’s touching her. 

 

***         

 

Lexa killed Cain. Of course, Clarke’s suspected as much. She doubts Lexa would’ve come back to her if he were still alive. 

 

“He wanted to execute me, but the majority of the Council persuaded him not to. I was too valuable of an asset to lose, they said.” Lexa’s hands never still as they lie tangled up in each other after yet another round of lovemaking. They caress her, gently, trailing up and down her back, her shoulders, her arms as she lies with her head on her chest and her arm and leg thrown over her, possessively. “What he didn’t know was they were my allies, not his. Of course, we couldn’t strike right away since the Clan leaders saw me as a disgrace after they learned about us.” Lexa lets out an irritated sigh. “Idiots.” 

 

“I could’ve helped you,” Clarke whispers, tracing Lexa’s pale skin with her fingertips. 

 

“I know.” Lexa’s serious when she says that. She knows it’s not simply to placate her. “But he found us at an… unfortunate time. I haven’t told you everything, and after… I couldn’t include you. I… suspected of a state you might be in, because – I was almost destroyed, too, when they took you away.” Her voice breaks at the end. “I had to – I had to turn it off. But my love didn’t go away, not completely. It became muted, at least, and that’s how I survived. I wouldn’t have otherwise.”

 

“I know.” Lexa’s fingers find her inner elbow and stroke the flawless skin with trembling care. “I know.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Clarke’s not sure if Lexa’s talking about their past or her present. “We’re here now. You and I.” 

 

She thinks she likes the sound of that.


End file.
